Nicotine
by kthoed
Summary: Min Yoongi is a mystery. And Jung Hoseok is a good guy attracted to bad vices and prone to wrong decisions.


The sky was crying the first time Yoongi talked to him. His midnight locks were damp and clung stubbornly to the skin of his cheek, the black overalls he wore then evidently did nothing to shield him from the angry downpour.

Hoseok never really knew the man. They were neighboors, but that was it. Sometimes he comes across Yoongi in the streets and once he fell in line behind him at the grocery store. And in all those occassions, a lit cigarette would be either dangling limply in his mouth or tucked in between his middle and index fingers. Hoseok didn't know anything about him, save for his pitch-black hair and those intense coffee brown eyes. He was pretty sure the guy didn't know him either. After all, they were only strangers living in the same block.

 _Strangers_.

Well, Hoseok would have believed that if there weren't fleeting glances and arcane eye contacts being shared every time they crossed paths. They would always look into each other's eyes, but none would speak. Hoseok's breath would catch in his throat, and Yoongi's mouth would move to take a puff of smoke. The brief second would tick away, and then they will pass each other without a word.

Min Yoongi was a wet, sloppy mess that day. His rain-soaked raven hair was dripping and his clothes were leaving trails of water on the ground directly below him. But his eyes wore the same expression they usually did. Impassive. Blank. Empty.

"H-hello, how may I help you?" Hoseok managed to blurt out.

Time is constantly linear and Hoseok never expected it to stop being so. But it did, because seconds slowed down when Yoongi's mouth subtly twitched into a failed attempt at an affable smile. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, deep, and raspy.

"I live next, next door, I lost the key to my house." He gestured a thumb on the further left of the road and peered over at Hoseok. "Can I take cover?"

Yoongi lost his key. And _that_ was the start of everything. Of the first of their many conversations. Of the several treasured memories today. Of how Hoseok slowly lost himself to someone he barely talked to until the skies sobbed and brought him before his door.

The heavens bled random streaks of orange and yellow as the midday of April arrived. It was a bright day. Even the sunflowers Hoseok's mother so patiently grew in their garden were vibrant as they swayed to follow the sun. The quiet tweeting of birds was music to the trees whose branches danced gracefully in the air, and the noise of occasional stream of cars passing through the roadway joining in in the nature's orchestra.

"Mom!" Hoseok called out as he made his way to the door. "I'm gonna head out."

The smell of friend bacon, eggs and other spices and condiments wafting through the household gradually decreased until there was nothing left. Hoseok heard his mother called back what he thought was " _come_ _back before lunch, hun_ " from behind their kitchen counter before he finally shut the door.

Hoseok wasn't wrong when he thought Yoongi would be hanging out in the abandoned graveyard along the 4th Street that day. However, he didn't get the alone part right. Yoongi had company, but he approached him anyway.

On top of three large dirty-white slabs of stone and cement—that Hoseok wasn't comfortable enough to imagine as the actual final resting place of three deceased people—were Yoongi sitting cross-legged and three other teenagers playing poker. One of them, the smallest but a brawny male with blonde hair and a particular childish twinkle in his eye noticed his presence first. He looked up at Hoseok and then the others followed suit.

"Woah," he said. The sound wasn't followed by any word.

The second to speak was a man towering over the other two, about an inch short to a full six feet.

"Yer' lost or somethin', dude?" His voice had a thick accent from the South and his tone practically said he couldn't care less even if that was _actually_ the case.

"No, I was—"

Hoseok met their questioning looks to explain but suddenly felt a pair of eyes trained on himself. He turned and saw Yoongi looking at him, his face as vacant as Hoseok can remember.

"Hey," he said.

There was the sudden twinge of unexplainable panic in Hoseok's chest _again_. Yoongi. No matter how horrible his dark hair was rumpled, no matter how cold his eyes seemed to be, his face never looked any less of an art. He was a breathing abstract and Hoseok was mystified every single time.

"Hey," Hoseok greeted back with a small smile.

No formalities were exchanged, no dead airs begged to be filled with awkward noises and forced sentences. It was a good day and everyone was having a good time... Maybe except Hoseok who, at some point, completely covered his nose as the smoke from four different cigarette sticks seemed to find their own respective ways to the inside of his lungs.

Jimin, the least tall but the one with the most remarkable physique as far as Hoseok's judgment can tell, was the nicest of the three. Namjoon, the tallest guy, and Jungkook, the one who kept on getting smacked in the head for his undefeated winning streak, mostly yelled profanities at each other with every shuffling of cards.

"Motherfucking ace!" Namjoon growled and ground the butt of his cigar against the edge of one of the old tombs.

Soon enough, the four finished off their cigarettes to Hoseok's relief. Namjoon hissed about being cheated on while Jimin tried to reach his shoulders and half-assedly massaged them the way coaches do to boxers before a match. Jungkook burst into fits of laughter but kept himself at a safe distance all the same.

"Want a hit?" Yoongi asked Hoseok as he pulled out another stick from the back pocket of his loose black pants.

Hoseok cannot help but wince at the sight of it. "No, thanks."

Yoongi's dark brown orbs studied his face for a few beats. Just as the other man was beginning to feel self-conscious, Yoongi shifted his gaze away and silently chuckled to himself.

The sound of Yoongi's laugh was music to his ears, but Hoseok was curious. "What's so funny?"

Yoongi clicked on his lighter and the end of the cigarette blared to life. "You."

"I wasn't doing anything," Hoseok replied, confused.

"Exactly." Yoongi pulled the cigarette stick close to his mouth, inhaled from it and a small cloud of white smoke escaped his lips. Turning his attention to Hoseok, his eyes glinted with amusement. "You don't smoke and you hate the smell of it. Why aren't you leaving yet?"

Hoseok shrugged and looked away; he did _not_ have words for that. He liked Yoongi and hanging out with him meant bearing with his smoking habits. Hoseok hated cigarettes, but not as much if they come with a _Yoongi_. He knew it was pretty stupid but that's basically what he is. _Pretty stupid_.

Now that his eyes had the chance to roam around the abandoned cemetery, only then that Hoseok noticed the eerie Gothic vibe the cracked tombstones and withering gold and silver plates over graves were exuding. It was too creepy that it struck Hoseok as _funny_. If he never met Yoongi, would he ever have had set foot on a desolate graveyard, much less with a bunch of problematic kids with unhealthy habits? It was a point worth pondering but at the moment, Hoseok only wanted to savor stolen glances of Yoongi's side profile.

Hoseok watched from the corner of his eye as Yoongi sucked on his cigarette only to puff it away a second later. Smoking hot—that's what Yoongi did to his cigarettes, and that's also what Yoongi looked _like_ to Hoseok.

He was preoccupied by that specific train of thought when suddenly, Yoongi leaned over to his side without warning. His face was painfully close to Hoseok's and the intense, attractive eyes he only used to gaze at in a distance was all of a sudden right in front of his. Hoseok's pulse started to race.

And then Yoongi opened his mouth, blowing a mouthful of funk smoke into Hoseok's face. His throat scratched in response and he coughed.

"Secondhand smoking is unhealthy, Hoseok," Yoongi said, his eyes telling him _something_ his mouth didn't.

The next following days were a blur. Before Hoseok even knew it, regular classes had resumed to schedule and every passing class hour dragged in a turtle's pace as if taunting the boy. He hadn't seen Yoongi for a while; they were attending different schools and maybe that was a good thing.

Humans were psychologically programmed in a haphazard, surprisingly illogical manner. People get what they don't like and do things they don't want. Whether that was part of one grand scheme and an intelligent design or not, perhaps Hoseok will never know.

Hoseok wasn't ignorant; he was aware Yoongi was problematic and getting acquainted with someone like him was most likely _not_ a good idea. But Hoseok was, _yeah_ , stupid. So he _didn't_ care.

The next time Hoseok saw Yoongi was right after the semester ended and on a chilly night of December. He was on the way home from dropping off some clothes at a nearby laundry shop when he noticed a group of young men pooling around the sidewalk a block away from his street.

It appeared like there was a drunken brawl going on. Hoseok wasn't interested in any bit but he was drawn closer to the scene as he spotted Jimin among the small crowd, cheering on.

"Alright, people, place your bets!" one lanky kid shouted over the noise to be heard. "Oh, yeah, we got seven bucks for papi Taehyung here!" Then a surge of collective _woooh!_ erupted.

"Hey, Seokjin," one teenager nudged the bet collector guy.

"Shut up, dude. I'm counting."

Hoseok scanned the crowd. There wasn't any sign whatsoever of a smoking stone-faced man in his usual monochromatic tees and trousers. Of course, it was futile. It had been months; maybe the person his eyes were searching for had moved out or anything close to purposely not making contact with him.

It turned out _he_ didn't.

"So you like the cold, huh?"

Hoseok turned around. There, in a gray coat and a pair of earmuffs, was Min Yoongi. In the flesh. And without a cigar sticking out between his lips nor his fingers.

The loud drumming of Hoseok's heart against his ribcage felt new but familiar. The vibration of the voice he long since longed for reverberated through his ear canals through to his head and straight to the special box for everything Yoongi-related. He never wanted to forget that low, husky voice and he'd like to fall in love with it every single waking hour of his life.

"H-hey," Hoseok stuttered.

Yoongi didn't answer, only stared at the other expectantly. They met gazes and just like when they weren't anything beyond strangers, the eye contact was cryptic, mysterious, and communicating.

Yoongi had _his_ cigarettes; and maybe Hoseok had Yoongi for his own _personal_ nicotine. Bad vices. Bad decisions. How can they ever be dangerous when drowning in them felt too good?

"Well?" Yoongi prodded, not breaking his gaze away.

"Huh?"

The yuletide breeze blew and Hoseok's overalls swayed in sync with it. His lower lip shuddered and for a moment, he wasn't sure if that was the weather at work or just his addiction taking toll.

"Today's my birthday. Aren't you gonna greet me or something?"

Hoseok did, but over glasses of beer and junk foods, comfortable silences, stolen glances and an almost tangible tension. Jimin managed to drag him along with them as the trio proceeded to Yoongi's house. With Namjoon and Jungkook lagging behind, Hoseok walked with the energetic Jimin and an indifferent Yoongi.

Yoongi's house was two doors away from Hoseok's. It was more spacious than his, but it was mostly due to the fact that Yoongi's was _emptier_. In the receiving area stood a plain gray sofa, a rectangular center table and a TV set hooked to the wall. There was also a large old-fashioned grandfather clock hanging in the far east wall that led to a staircase to the second floor. The overall interior was simple as if wasn't given any special attention at all. _Black and white_ , it was the most fitting description that came to Hoseok's mind.

There were unfinished bottles of alcohol and used glasses strewn over the coffee table. Aside from the stink of Namjoon's breath, the setting confirmed Hoseok's speculation that the drinking session started earlier than when he was invited.

Hoseok doesn't drink. But today it was what he would put up with to spend more time with Yoongi. A brief image of his unfinished English Communications homework and the fact that it would be a Monday in a few hours popped in his head, but he quickly shrugged them off. Tomorrow would be a school day, but tonight it's _Min Yoongi_ 's birthday.

The silence was defeaning and although Hoseok was relishing the fact that he's nearly alone with Yoongi, somehow he wished loud Jimin or the bickering duo wasn't knocked out to provide senseless noise and break through the tensed blanket of quiet over Hoseok's and Yoongi's heads. Over the course of days he distinctly felt the latter's absence, he wished time would fly and Yoongi would be there with him, just looking and talking and sharing a few meaningless words.

Tonight Yoongi was _there_. But Hoseok was tongue-tied.

"Enjoying yourself?" Yoongi broke the ringing silence, tilting his head to the side to look at Hoseok. A nearly empty glass was in his left hand, his dark eyes glossy and stained with a very pale shade of red.

"Y-yeah." And suddenly, Hoseok was fully aware of the beverage he's clutching in his own hand. He only took a sip or two but the taste of it was urging him to puke all over the floor. The alcohol slashed a distinct sensation in his gut, one that he didn't like.

There was the silence settling again. But Hoseok quickly moved his mouth to speak.

"Why do you smoke?"

Yoongi peered over at him, a spark of sudden interest evident in his two pools of brown.

"Why do people _ever_ do anything?" Yoongi clicked his tongue and took a small sip from his glass before continuing. "I smoke because I do, that's all there is to it."

Hoseok was an open book, a children's bedtime story that didn't need analysis and lengthy reflections to be understood. Yoongi was the opposite. He's like a poem free for all to read but only the wisest can comprehend. And Hoseok liked things he _didn't_ understand.

The night was aging, the cicadas outside humming across the blackness of the night. Yoongi's eyes slowly lost their focus the longer he downed bottles of beer while Hoseok stopped all pretense of helping himself to the reeking beverage.

At some point, Yoongi glanced at him and chuckled one of his rare entertained laughs. "You don't like alcohol either, do you?"

Hoseok was a good guy attracted to bad things and prone to bad decisions. But he liked being himself all the same.

"You _are_ a fool, Jung Hoseok."

Lips crashed against each other. Hands grabbed all over unfamiliar places. Hoseok's mind was screaming into overdrive but nothing stopped his mouth from reciprocating the kiss. Tongues moved and the taste of Yoongi's alcohol-flavored lips drove Hoseok to a euphoric wreck.

Their mouths parted briefly for air. Hoseok slowly opened his eyes, recovering from the high, and saw Yoongi looking down at him, his eyes uncertain but determined, cautious but not caring. His breathing was coarse, rugged, labored. And then his mouth clashed roughly against Hoseok's for the second time that night.

He was _right_. Yoongi was his nicotine. And Hoseok was addicted.

Hoseok dreamed up the whole thing. The kiss, the meaningful looks, the intoxicating exchange of silence through their mouths, they were all his alcohol-induced fantasies.

 _Or_ so Hoseok would like to believe. Because not once in the following days, weeks, and months did Yoongi ever acknowledge what happened when they were finally sober.

Hoseok hung out with Jimin, Namjoon, Jungkook, and Yoongi more frequently than he did in the past. He learned Namjoon wasn't as apathetic as he appeared to be the first time he met them in the abandoned cemetery at the 14th, and Jungkook was indeed as playful as he seemed to be at first glance. Hoseok became friends with the problematic kids in the neighborhood, but Yoongi had fewer words to say to him then. He didn't look like he was mad; he just looked uninterested, bored, indifferent. The _usual_ Min Yoongi Hoseok was first entranced with.

"Are you mad at me?" Hoseok remembered asking one day.

A few strands of Yoongi's hair blew against his forehead as the wind breezed by. He shrugged nonchalantly. "Did you do something for me to be mad about?"

"I..." He replied unsurely. "I don't think so."

With one last puff of smoke, Yoongi ground the butt of his cigarette against the wall then tossed it away. "There you go."

But the assurance didn't comfort Hoseok. It upset him and for the first time in forever, he was frustrated over the complicated riddle that is Min Yoongi. Temperament wasn't in Hoseok's character. But he felt things he never did prior to meeting Yoongi, and that stinging pain over being ignored was _one_ of them.

"Are you ticked off because of the kiss?" Hoseok breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. He felt tears threatening to slip and he choked on his next words. "It's not like I initiated it, _you know_."

Yoongi was clearly stunned to see Hoseok shaking with what looked like annoyance, frustration, anger and hurt. He didn't speak for a moment and waited for a few seconds until the other gained back his composure. With the cigarette stick missing from his fingers, Yoongi didn't have anything to busy his hand with.

So he did the _only_ thing he wanted to do at the moment. Yoongi reached out and caressed the top of Hoseok's auburn locks.

It apparently wasn't one of the responses Hoseok was expecting. He looked up at him just as Yoongi pulled away.

"I told you I'm not mad, didn't I?" Yoongi said, his voice low.

His words contradicted his actions just like verses of a poem insinuating meanings exactly opposite of its symbols. Yoongi confused him with his words as if he knew his mysteries were what captivated Hoseok.

Hoseok liked them _all_ , but one can only take so much. Before he can clamp a hand over his mouth, the words he'll probably soon regret started spilling out of his mouth.

"You're a total douche but I like you so _goddamn_ much."

Hoseok's heart was racing like crazy. The surge of emotions sent him over the edge but when he heard himself say the words, his face paled and a shuddering rueful cold enveloped him. Just as he predicted, Hoseok immediately regretted saying them.

The short, impulsive confession was answered by silence. Min Yoongi stared at Hoseok for longer than how the other was comfortable with. His eyes bore holes into Hoseok's face.

The impassive stare burning his skin sent him into an internal affliction and Hoseok blamed himself for liking puzzles when he can never solve them anyway, for loving poetry when their words were Greek to him anyway. He knew nothing and that cluelessness would be the downfall of him.

Yoongi broke the ice and cast his eyes heavenwards. His face was the same as ever. Catatonic. Expresionless.

"I know," he said.

And when his attention found its way back to the younger man's eyes, Hoseok was mesmerized.

The stars, the glow, the suns, the planets, and the beauty of the galaxies were all _imprinted_ in Min Yoongi's eyes. Hoseok never for once believed it was humanly possible for the eyes to communicate several profound emotions at a time. But there Yoongi was, telling him things he never knew of _without_ moving his mouth.

The fears, insecurities, desires, regrets and hopes of the man whose eyes showed him nothing but impassivity and an abyss of nothingness were exposed to Hoseok in a mere eye contact. Yoongi was several things. Yoongi was not black and white. Yoongi was a hybrid of art, poetry, music, happy days, rainy ones, tragedies and broken dreams. In that moment, Hoseok understood every piece of him. And he fell for Yoongi even deeper.

Jung Hoseok and Min Yoongi were the best and worst of two different worlds. Hoseok lived in a tropical island with promising sunsets and a beautiful skyline, but Yoongi preferred solidarity in a barren, lifeless patch of withering slabs of a graveyard. They were polar opposites, but as metaphysics had proved long ago, nature intended for antonyms to provide sense to each other just like how Hoseok gave meaning to Yoongi and Yoongi did to him.

Hoseok found himself a few inches away from Yoongi's face, the tips of their noses touched and a mere breath separated their mouths. When Yoongi's moist lips pressed against Hoseok's, he was intoxicated, even more so than with their drunken kiss.

The kiss was slow, soft and warm. Hoseok's heart fluttered as he felt his lips moving passionately against his own. Yoongi's mouth tasted vaguely of cigarette, mint and a weak savor of black coffee. They were both sober but for some reason, Hoseok felt more drunk than he ever felt the last time.

"I didn't... want... to drag you... into... all my shit," Yoongi whispered in between short, wet kisses and warm caresses across Hoseok's neck, lower back and abdomen.

Hoseok's mouth roamed from Yoongi's defined jaw through to the shell of his ear, but paused when Yoongi finished his sentence.

Yoongi pulled Hoseok away at arm's length and ruffled the top of his reddish brown hair. He cocked his head to the side, a small smile tugging at the ends of his mouth as his eyes caressed Hoseok's single-lidded own, down to his pert nose, plump lips, and overall profile.

"You're beautiful, and you don't deserve to be _tainted_ by me."

The sun rose high in the horizon, slashing the sky with smudges of diluted pink and faded orange, an artistic backdrop for the flocks of birds freely soaring through the clear heavens. It's been a week and Hoseok still hadn't heard from Yoongi. According to Jimin, he hadn't seen him either over the past week. Did Yoongi regret the whole deal after all?

That assumption was all it took for the skies to _stop_ looking so beautiful.

Class hours dragged too slowly that Wednesday. The professors delivered their usual lectures and small discussions about the current lesson arose from the class at some occasions. Saying Hoseok is the top of the class would be a bit of a stretch, but even so, he was better than most of his classmates especially in the sciences.

A surprise problem set was given in Hoseok's Calculus class that meeting. He didn't do bad, but that wasn't enough to raise his spirits as he exitted the room during dismissal.

As he was walking across the open field to the exit gates of the school, Hoseok took a moment to look up and observe the skies. They were dark and gloomy, an impending rain threatening to fall from the black clouds hanging heavily in the sky. It was like the heaven was about to _cry_.

As if on cue, drops of rainwater started crashing against the ground in a series of loud, violent thumps. Hoseok should have had ran for cover, but he didn't.

The sky that Wednesday was crying. Just like _the_ day Yoongi showed up at Hoseok's door. Wet. Messy. And _fucking_ handsome.

Several students behind Hoseok sprinted past him to take cover under the waiting shed right outside the school gates. Others who brought umbrellas with them were walking without rush and giggling about small gossips Hoseok wasn't interested in hearing.

When he reached the gates, Hoseok froze still. His heartbeat gained pace exponentially, and he was deafened by the thumping of his own chest.

Min Yoongi was leaning against the wall, under the shed _right_ outside Hoseok's school. He was standing tall, his dark eyes fixated on nothing in particular, his face devoid of emotions, and a stick dangling from between his lips as normal.

 _What was Yoongi doing there?_

Yoongi must have felt the gaze on him because he turned and immediately met Hoseok's eyes.

The rain was pouring hard. The sound it made as the raindrops made contact with the ground was only what broke the silence lingering in the space between Hoseok and Yoongi. No words were exchanged. No warm smiles. No _anything_. Just ambiguous glances and intangible complexities.

Hoseok watched as the clouds broke down into bits of water and individually fell to kiss the welcoming ground. There was something poetic about the rain. To him, the raindrops were like brave soldiers finally mustering the noblest of courage and fulfilling their fate with proud smiles on their faces as they meet with the earth. He smiled, and thought aloud. "You were right when you said I like the cold."

Yoongi looked to his side to face Hoseok, a hint of an amused smile beginning to paint itself on his lips. He took the stick out of his mouth to answer. "I'm right about most things."

Hoseok cannot help but laugh at the unusual display of cockiness from Yoongi. He looked at him and the smile on his face was replaced with confusion and disbelief.

Yoongi was holding a lollipop, _not_ a cigarette stick.

The confused look Hoseok was wearing earned a quiet chuckle from Yoongi who then put his lollipop back in his mouth and sucked on it like he was challenging the unspoken questions from Hoseok.

"What-wh—" he mumbled unintelligibly.

"Yeah?"

Hoseok wordlessly pointed a forefinger on the lollipop stick that dangled from Yoongi's lips.

Yoongi gave one last suck on his candy, his eyes fixated steadily on Hoseok. "I heard it's a good way to quit smoking."

The rain poured harder, the winds angrily slapped the nearby trees, school buildings, the streets down below, and everything within their reach. The skies were crying, angry, and wailing.

But Hoseok was _happy_.

The man he never knew how to read was beginning to show him his pages. He wasn't exactly certain if that was the case; perhaps Hoseok learned to read poems and comprehend them the way they were written to be, perhaps that, perhaps not. It didn't really matter so long as he knew of Yoongi, his mysteries, his tendencies and unpredictabilities.

He _knew_ Yoongi. That was enough for Hoseok.

The thought must had been doodled in black, solid fonts on Hoseok's face because Yoongi smiled at his direction and said, "You don't know everything just yet."

"H-huh?"

The rain toned down a bit, the winds breezed by from the east in a calmer speed, and Hoseok suddenly had the impression the skies weren't crying.

They were _singing_.

"You know, Hoseok," Yoongi started, a particular glint dancing in his pair of usually dark, empty, cold eyes, his lollipop stick still dangling limply at the side of his mouth.

"I _never_ lost my keys."


End file.
